


Knygnešys

by Daegaer



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anthropomorphic Personifications, Books, Friendship, Gen, Imperialism, International Relations, Languages, Resistance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2018-02-20 15:10:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2433281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the 19th century and facing the enforced imposition of Russia's culture, Lithuania discovers a way to survive in Russia's house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knygnešys

**Author's Note:**

> Originally on the [Hetalia kink meme](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/20749.html?thread=80437005)  
> Thank you to Puddingcat for beta-reading!

_1865_

Lithuania kept his eyes down, gingerly running his tongue over his bleeding gums and hoping that the loose teeth would right themselves in time. Russia’s boots paced back and forth on the carpet before him. _Don’t stop in front of me_ , he thought, a hot wash of shame for his cowardice colouring his face. There was no sound except Ukraine’s muffled sobs. Very stealthily the back of Poland’s hand brushed against his, the smallest of comforts.

“I am disappointed in you all,” Russia said at last, his voice mild and concerned. “What silly people you are, causing such trouble in my house. You will only have to clean up the mess yourselves, you know. Have any of you anything to say for yourselves?”

There was a deepening silence, even Ukraine’s sobs ceasing. Then,

“Sorry?” Poland said. “I didn’t catch that – is that, like, some weird dialect of Polish you’re speaking? ‘Cos some of the words are _totally_ familiar, but mostly it’s word salad –“

Russia backhanded him across the mouth, sending him reeling. “We should have cut you into much smaller pieces,” he said conversationally. “Perhaps after dinner.”

“Nah,” Poland said, wiping the blood from his lips. “Your Polish is still totally sucktastic, it’s like listening to a donkey trying to speak –“ He dodged back, taking only a glancing blow, and grabbed Russia’s hand, sinking his teeth in.

Lithuania found he had stepped forwards, his fists clenched, Ukraine and Belarus by his side. For a brief moment they were the Commonwealth again and he could see Poland’s renewed vigour as he did his best to chew Russia’s thumb off. On the other side of the room everyone who hadn’t rebelled cowered back, shaking. Estonia pulled Latvia against him, looking sick. Russia threw Poland to the floor and rounded on the little line of rebels.

“It would be very sad if I were forced to beat my own sisters,” he said, flexing the fingers of his bitten hand. “I hope you won't make it necessary for me to hit our little sister, Ukraine?”

Ukraine stopped dead, pulling Belarus against her. “W-we’re sorry,” she said. “We just wanted –“

“But what about what _I_ want?” Russia said looking sadly at Lithuania. “Why are you trying to sneak up on me? If I back up I might step on Poland’s wrist! I am very heavy; I think his wrist might break,” he said, an expression of worry on his face at the thought. “What am I going to do with you?” he mused, then brightened. “These silly ideas, they have been put in your heads by too much reading! You need to work outdoors in the fresh air - that will cure you! A season or two in Siberia, I think, yes?” He grinned as if he had made a splendid joke. “No? You seem unhappy? Well, let us take another approach – Latvia, go to everyone’s rooms and take away all the books that are not in Russian. We’ll have a bonfire! I will teach you all songs we can sing!”

“B-but –“ Latvia started.

“Little Latvia,” Russia said fondly, “You are standing on that side of the room because Estonia was so anxious I should know you are young and silly and easily led. If you want me to remember that some of the trouble took place in your old house you may come over and stand beside Lithuania.”

“He’s sorry!” Estonia said. “He is! Latvia, go - do what Russia says!”

“Good,” Russia said, dismissing Latvia from mind as he turned back. “You four – you are in my house and you will do as I say. You will speak my language. You will read my books. You will not read books in Belarusian, or Ukrainian, or Lithuanian and certainly not in Polish. These books of Poland's, they are full of nonsense that puts bad ideas in your heads. You will not read books in Latin, either.”

“My missal is in Latin,” Lithuania said, alarmed.

Russia clasped his shoulder in a hard, tight grip. “I’ll give you plenty of new prayerbooks,” he said. “You’ll attend _my_ church from now on.” He grinned, looking between Lithuania and Poland, sitting in a daze on the carpet. “I’ll make proper Christians of you yet!”

 _You bastard,_ Lithuania thought. _I’m going to fight you_. As Russia turned away, Lithuania frantically signalled to Poland not to jump up to attack again. _I’m going to fight you_ subtly, he thought. He realised he had no idea how to say that in Polish.

 

_1883_

 

Lithuania rubbed his eyes and squinted at the papers again. The stub of the candle on his table threw out hardly any light, and the lines of writing seemed to waver as he looked at them. _Just a little more_ , he thought, and picked up his pen. Russia had spent almost two decades cajoling and demanding that Lithuania and his people speak and think in Russian, and Lithuania had spent the same time sneaking around behind his back making sure that didn’t happen. Years and years of sleepless nights, stolen candles and paper, years and years of translating books he had once read in Polish to Lithuanian, of writing his own history so that his people would not forget who they were, had left him tired yet strangely exultant. The more Russia insisted that only Russian culture existed, the more Lithuania found within himself to say _No, you’re wrong._ It had been hard at the start, for he was so used to speaking Polish when he wanted to say something _important_ , but it was becoming easier and easier, and the sight of a torrent of words in Lithuanian in black and white was no longer strange. At first he found himself speaking in a country accent when he read his lines back to himself, for he was used to hearing Polish spoken in all the cities of the old Commonwealth, but gradually it became normal to him to see his own language used to discuss politics and literature, and he made a point of speaking it with his people, even if only in whispers. He laid his notes aside and picked up a poster lying on one side of the table. _Speaking Lithuanian Strictly Forbidden!_ it said in strong Cyrillic characters.

“We’ll see about that,” he said in Lithuanian, adding for good measure in Polish, “As _if._ ”

He stood and stretched, feeling the tenseness in his neck and shoulders ease a tiny bit as tired muscles shifted. He definitely had enough material for another slim volume of history, and for a collection of poetry, and most precious of all - he reached out and caressed the papers covered in different handwriting from his own - a newspaper. His people wanted a newspaper in his language. He was so very proud of them, he thought. He carefully put the papers in envelopes, each thin enough to cause no betraying bulge in his clothes, then slipped out of his jacket, laying it out on the table. He slid the envelopes between the jacket and its lining, each in its own section he had painstakingly sewed. One line went around his back, under his arms, the others in the lower half of the jacket; he had learnt through experience that placing the envelopes across his upper back and shoulders made the jacket too ill-fitting, too suspiciously bulky. Not to mention uncomfortably tight across his shoulders and difficult to button neatly. He sewed the slits in the lining shut again and pulled the jacket on. The weight of the papers made it heavier and warmer. _I am wrapped in my people's words_ , he thought with satisfaction, and pulled a cap on, brim low over his eyes, before opening the window and lowering himself out of Russia's house.

It was dangerous, far too dangerous, for him to ask his people to help him print seditious literature anywhere within the bounds of Russia's house, though some did, and paid the price if they were caught. It was much better to carry out his illegal activities where they weren't illegal - even if that meant depending on the goodwill of someone he had detested for centuries. Lithuania sighed as he crept towards Russia's garden wall. He was in no position to think of old enmities – not if those enemies were prepared to look the other way in amusement. It still galled that he had to depend on Prussia, of all people, to shelter his actions against Russia.

He had made his language a rallying point for his people, and he had encouraged his intellectuals and nationalists to use it even if Polish came more easily and naturally to their tongues. He himself used Polish with his friends to encourage them to give it up and was delighted to find scraps of paper in Latvia's handwriting covered in what seemed to be poetry, though he couldn't understand a word. It was equally thrilling to look over Ukraine's shoulder when she claimed she was writing up shopping lists and to realise that though the letters might be from Russia's alphabet, she was not writing in Russia's language. Belarus, though - Lithuania sighed. Ever since Russia had found her writing speeches in her own language he had taken to dropping in to her room at odd times, or insisting she keep him company. It was getting more and more difficult for her to snatch even a moment to _think_ in her own language. _I can't look after them all,_ Lithuania thought, crouching low behind the hedge that ran around Russia's vegetable garden. _I'm not the Commonwealth any more; I have to concentrate on my_ own _people_. He pushed down the thought that they had _all_ been his people only the previous century and cautiously looked around the corner of the hedge. Russia's guard dogs were fierce and he had no wish to be bitten again. The coast seemed clear, and there was nothing to be gained by waiting. Lithuania rose to his feet and sprinted for the wall, glad the lid was still on the rain barrel by the potting shed. He leapt onto the barrel, then swung up onto the shed roof and with one final jump caught the top of the wall. He scrambled up and over, let himself hang from his fingertips and dropped. He was outside Russia's territories.

Not taking the time to look back, he ran. It was easiest for him on land that had been his, but his destination had not belonged to him for a very long time. Not that that mattered, he thought exultantly. He was defining himself anew, as a people with their own language, not a group of different peoples who spoke Poland's language to each other. And the people where he was headed spoke Lithuanian, even if they hadn't lived in the Commonwealth, and so they were _his_ , even if they lived in Prussia's house. He slowed at last, breathing hard, looking around at the houses and streets that surrounded him. He walked quietly to a door and knocked, slipping in when an exhausted woman opened the door.

"Good evening, Birutė," he said as they walked to the back of the house. "I have the new material."

She smiled at him. "We're finishing what you brought last time. We'll have a lot for you tonight."

He grinned and ran down the back stairs to the kitchen. Two men stood by the table in their shirt sleeves, trimming the edges of fresh-printed pamphlets, while from the scullery came the sound of a third man whistling as he worked the press.

"Lithuania!" the younger man cried in delight. "We feared you wouldn't be able to come!"

"Ansas, when have I ever not come? Good evening, Vilius!" Lithuania grinned and took off his jacket, quickly pulling out the loose stitches in its lining. "I have a lot of material for your press tonight, most importantly a newspaper - I'll be back tomorrow or the day after for it." He handed over the handwritten pages. "It's to be called _Aušra_ ," he said proudly. 

"We'll take extra care of it - we've been waiting for this!" Ansas said happily.

The door opened and Poland skipped in. "Hey, Liet!" he sang out, "Hey, you guys! Are we all ready for a night of illegal poetry and political ranting?"

"Hello," Ansas said shyly in heavily accented Polish. "We have books for you." He looked pleadingly at Lithuania.

"Poland," Lithuania said quietly, "You know Ansas is the only one who can speak any of your language. It's not polite to speak Polish to them - we can speak Lithuanian or German, you know that."

"I'm not speaking German," Poland said, pouting. "I totally got enough of that already today. OK, OK, I'll start over. Hey, you guys!" he said in Lithuanian, and grinned as they smiled at him. "I've got something for you," he added to Lithuania, and took a package out of his satchel. "It's from America."

"It's been opened!" Lithuania said in annoyance. "Poland, did you read this?"

"No!" Poland said. "Prussia opened it - he said anything that came to his house was for him. Then he, like, laughed a lot and said to give to you." He rubbed his shoulder, adding, "I wish he wouldn't slap me on the back when he's in a good mood, it totally hurts. He said, _Give that lanky friend of yours my regards and tell him the minute he does anything illegal in my house I'm kicking his ass out of Ragnit._ " 

"Ragainė," Lithuania said automatically, looking through the package. It was more books, he saw with delight, printed in America's house

"Hey," Poland said, "I _told_ him it was pronounced _Ragneta_ and he just gave that totally irritating laugh and whacked me on the shoulder again."

Lithuania laughed and pushed him gently towards the table. They worked for hours, trimming and parcelling up the printed pamphlets, then helping Ansas and Vilius' cousin Jurgis to set the type for the front page of the new newspaper. Lithuania wiped the perspiration from his face and knew he had smudged his forehead with ink when Poland laughed at him.

"Silly Liet," Poland said, wiping his face with a handkerchief that was itself covered in ink. "You just can't take care of yourself."

"I manage just fine," Lithuania said, refusing to answer in Polish. "So what if I'm dirty? It's from honest work - stop that, I can wipe my own face, thank you."

"I'm totally kidding," Poland said. "No need to get snippy. God, some of us have to do chores for Prussia and Austria as well as Russia before they work all night helping a pal with his secret projects, you know."

"It's about time you knew what hard work meant," Lithuania muttered, then felt guilty as Poland looked stricken. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," he said, and switched to Polish. "I'm grateful for your help, you know I am. I'm just tired, I didn't mean to be rude."

"Yeah, I know," Poland said. He sighed and picked up a few bundles of pamphlets. "I'll take these back to Vienna, and sneak them in to Russia's house from there. He never searches me properly when Austria sends me back." He put them in a satchel and slung it over his shoulder. "Hey, we should totally have another revolution," he said brightly. "One of them's gotta work, right?"

"Right," Lithuania said, smiling.

"And once we've got our own house back you can print all the books you want! It'll be sweet! You can read all the stuff you want in Lithuanian, and you can go back to speaking Polish!"

"Yeah," Lithuania said, and knew all at once he was lying. He felt stricken - for centuries he had spoken Polish, his poets and intellectuals had conversed and written in Polish and now it felt to him like a foreign language. "Yes, that'd be nice," he said. He carefully slid pamphlets into the lining of his jacket, so many he could barely close it once he put it on again. "I need to get back," he said reluctantly.

"Wait!" Ansas said. "This is for you, Lithuania!" He handed over the first test printing of the page they had set.

 _It's perfect_ , Lithuania thought, and felt his eyes well up. "Look," he said, "Look, Poland. The first newspaper in my language."

" _Homines historiarum ignari semper sunt pueri_ ," Poland read. "Dude, that's Latin. I'm pretty sure you're not a Roman." He grinned and read on, " _People ignoring history remain children forever_. I like it, Liet. You'll totally show Russia he can't shove us all around."

"Yes," Lithuania said, rather glad he had only been given the first page. Some of the paper's articles were scathing about Polish influence, and he didn't want Poland's feelings hurt too badly. "Will you be all right going back to Austria's house on your own?"

"I'll be totally fine," Poland said. "Bye, you guys!" he added in Lithuanian and waited for Lithuania to shake hands with the men before leading him back up to the hall. "You just wait," he said, when they were standing in the darkened street, "we'll be back together before you know it, all of us, and we'll be as strong as ever!"

Lithuania didn't answer, just reaching out to pull the brim of Poland's hat further down to obscure his face, and turning up his collar against the chill of the night. _I don't think so_ , he thought. _I'm sorry, Poland._ All the underground presses, he thought, all the nations who had lived in their house so busily trying to find ways of saying _I'm here, I'm different from what Russia wants_ \- all were pulling apart in ways that would not easily fit together again. _I'm killing what's left of the Commonwealth_ , he thought, _I'm so sorry_. He kissed Poland in an apology he knew he couldn't express in words. "Are you sure you'll be all right by yourself?" he asked.

"Dude, _yes_. Will _you_ be all right without _me?_ "

"I'll be fine," Lithuania said quietly, sad to let the past go, but feeling hope within him for the future, as sure as the dawn. "I really will."

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> In 1863 the nations of the former Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth rebelled against Russia. After the rebellion was put down in 1865, a policy of language repression was instituted in Lithuania, making it illegal to own or print books in Lithuanian, and restricting the use of the spoken language. This led to a flood of books printed in East Prussia and America being smuggled into Lithuania despite the harsh penalties, and the growth of Lithuanian-language literature and nationalism.
> 
>  
> 
> The title means "Book Smuggler" in Lithuanian.


End file.
